


Home

by SarkaS



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek had enough, Human Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Present Tense, Stiles cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarkaS/pseuds/SarkaS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene I would love to see in season 4. One of my contributions to Sterek Week 2015.<br/>Just another day, another close call and Derek has enough. He does not expect anyone would care if he left the town. He's really wrong on that front.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

 

 

Derek's not even pausing to take a shower and clean his wounds, just takes the most important things, puts them in an old worn duffel bag and tosses it over his shoulder. Not a single moment of hesitation. He's actually bit surprised when he falters one step from the steel door and looks over his shoulder like all this is happening against his will. 

 

He is leaving everything behind. And this time for good. He’s not going to have the nerves to come back again. Not a second time. 

 

Something hard and cold settles in his stomach, but he ignores it and with one deep breath opens the door. And freezes.

 

“Yep. I expected this,” Stiles says sounding almost amused, but the look on his face is nothing if not sad. And dead tired. “I would say something about the tail and running, but guess there is no point now. You know, with all that new human squishy you and everything…” He makes two steps into the loft, stopping just a few feet from Derek. 

 

Derek doesn’t know how he should respond, so he remains silent. Usual scowl slipping into its rightful place. Stiles snorts.

 

“Come one, sour wolf. You could not possibly think this would be that easy. Don’t you know me?”

 

Derek scowls harder. He has no idea what Stiles wants. Or why he's even there. But he ignores that stupid nickname, which he didn’t miss at all, with everything he has. Really.  _ He didn’t. _

 

Stiles looks from Derek to the right and glances over the loft, with some of Derek’s clothes still tossed over different pieces of furniture, dirty dishes on the counter and the unmade bed. 

 

“I used to think you would be one of those neat freaks with polished spoons and books in alphabetical order. Until one day you let me in for more than five seconds and I sat on your dirty socks. That was a hell of a shock, let me tell you.”

 

Why is he telling this to Derek? They just almost fucking  _ died. Again _ . And Stiles is standing here, ignoring the obvious fact that Derek is leaving - or trying to - and talking about dirty socks. Like neither of them is bleeding and there isn’t an ugly bruise forming on the side of Stiles’ face. 

 

“What are you doing here, Stiles?“ 

 

"You can’t reach on your back.” Is the confusing answer.

 

Derek slightly shakes his head, like it could somehow help him understand. “What?”

 

Stiles looks back at him again, and then nods in the direction of Derek’s back. “You had to slide on your back half across the room. On a concrete floor. In thin shirt. You can’t possibly take care of that injury by yourself.”

 

By sheer power of will, Derek doesn’t let his mouth fall open. “You came to-” Help him with his injury?

 

“Well, you took off before I could take you to my place to take care of it. So we need to do this in your home instead of mine.” Stiles is looking at him with such an intensity Derek’s toes curls inside his shoes. Or maybe it’s just that word.  _ Home.  _

 

“When we are done with you, you can help me take care of this,” he gestures to his face and back of his head, where his hair is dark with blood. Derek’s heartbeat quickens with worry. 

 

And just like that, the duffle bag hits the floor and Derek’s shoulder slumps in defeat. Stiles’ whole face lights up. Not with a smile, Stiles isn’t smiling that much, but with something deeper, even rarer… 

 

“First, go take a shower. You need that back clean before we take care of it.” 

And for some reason, Derek goes.

 

***

 

Sitting on the steps in front of the door, Derek watches Stiles' face in the light shining through the huge window. The sun is setting and Stiles' usually amber eyes have the color of gold in flames. 

 

Stiles tilts his head more to the left and lets Derek check his head for any other injury. Derek tries not to think about the feeling he had when Stiles disappeared under that falling debris for a moment. Before Scott and Liam got to him and pulled him out. 

 

It’s almost unbelievable he doesn’t have more injuries. Or some broken bones for that matter. 

 

Stiles’ skin is still covered in dust and dirt, but he insisted on taking care of Derek wounds first and Derek couldn’t come up with any objection. He's selfish like that. He wants to roll in that breathtaking feeling of content that he’s taken care of. 

Somebody wants to take care of him. Stiles wants to take care of him. He’s putting Derek in the first place. 

It's been so long since someone did that for him…

 

Stiles takes Derek’s hands into his own and pulls them from his dirty hair with a pained grimace. Derek immediately freaks out. “Did I hurt you? Shit, I didn’t-”

 

“Chill, worry wolf. I’m fine,” Stiles smiles. “It’s just a bump.”

 

Derek doubts that. Bumps don’t bleed. He knows that much. 

 

“Just need some Advil and a shower. ’m gonna be fine.”

 

Derek gives him a doubtful look and Stiles half smiles, half smirks. He glances from Derek’s still wet hair, over his face, to the bare chest and Derek watches something in his expression switch. Instead of that smirk, there is softness and warmth and something that make Derek’s skin tingle. 

 

Stiles is close. So close Derek can feel his breath on his lips and chin. He can even comfortably count his eyelashes. Stiles’ skin colored by the orange sunlight looks velvety smooth.

 

Derek swallows, his mouth dry. 

 

“Do you still want to run away?” Stiles asks quietly, almost whispering.

 

Derek knows what Stiles wants to hear, but he can’t say it. It would be a lie. “Yes,” he confesses instead like it’s a deadly sin. Stiles doesn’t look surprised. 

 

“Will you?” There isn’t any pressure in his tone. Nothing that would push Derek in one direction or the other. It’s purely his choice and he's the one who would have to bear the consequences. He could just take that bag and flee from this goddamned town. But the thing is, no matter where he would go, there isn’t any place, where he could find what this town has. Beacon of hope with golden-amber eyes and awful sense of humor. 

 

“No,” he says truthfully and watches Stiles smile with his whole being. And Derek knows this is what he craves. This is home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on my tumblr http://were-dragon.tumblr.com/post/122170284891


End file.
